Shades of Twilight

by Lind Howard

  “Tell me,” she said.

  He didn’t turn away from the windows. “I suspect we might have a visitor tonight.”

  She thought about it for a few seconds, and her stomach knotted at the obvious answer. “You think the burglar will come back?”

  He gave her a brief glance. “You’re quick, you know that? I don’t think he was a burglar. But, yes, I think he’ll come.”

  He could see the side lawn from this room, she realized, while from either of their rooms he could have seen only the back. “If he isn’t a burglar, why would he come back?”

  Webb was silent a moment, then said, “Jessie’s killer was never caught.”

  She was suddenly chilled, and pulled the afghan around her shoulders. “You think … you think whoever killed Jessie was in the house again that night, and hit me?”

  “I think it’s possible. Your accident today wasn’t an accident, Ro. Your brake line had been cut. And someone took a couple of shots at me the other day when I was late getting here for the party. I didn’t have car trouble; my windshield was shot out.”

  Roanna sucked in a deep, shocked breath, her mind reeling. She wanted to jump up and yell at him for not having said something before, she wanted to throw something, she wanted to get her hands on whoever had tried to shoot him. She couldn’t do any of that, however. If she wanted him to finish telling her what was going on, she had to sit there and not make a lot of noise. She pulled herself together and tried to reason it out. “But… why would whoever killed Jessie want to kill you? And me?”

  “I don’t know,” he said in frustration. “I’ve gone over and over everything that happened before Jessie died, and I can’t think of anything. I didn’t know she had a lover until Booley told me she was pregnant when she died, but why would he have killed Jessie? It would have made sense if he’d tried to kill me, but not Jessie. And if Jessie was killed because of something else she was doing, there wouldn’t be a reason for the killer to come after you and me. We don’t know who he is, and after ten years he should feel safe from discovery, so why take the risk of starting it all again?”

  “So you don’t think her lover is the one?”

  “I don’t know. There’s no reason for it. On the other hand, if I’m the real target and have been all along, that means Jessie died because she was my wife. I thought she might have surprised the killer, the same way you did, and he killed her so she couldn’t identify him. I made sure it’s common knowledge that you can’t remember anything about the night you were attacked, so he wouldn’t have that as a reason for coming back. But when your brake line was cut, I knew it had to be more than that. Tampering with your car was directed specifically at you.”

  “Because we’re getting married,” she said, feeling sick inside. “But how could he have found out so fast? We just decided yesterday morning!”

  “You started making arrangements yesterday,” Webb said, shrugging. “Think of the people you called, all the people they must have told. News travels. Whoever it is must hate me a lot, to go after first Jessie, then you.”

  “But Jessie’s death had to be unplanned,” Roanna argued. “No one could have known that y’all would argue that night or that you would have gone to a bar. Normally you would have been at home.”

  “I know,” he said, exhaling hard in frustration. “I can’t think of a reason for any of it. No matter how I look at it, some of the details don’t fit.”

  She got up from the bed and went over to him, needing his closeness. He put his arms around her and hugged her to him, tucking the afghan more securely around her shoulders. She laid her head on his chest, softly breathing in the warm, musky scent of his skin. It was unthinkable that anything should happen to him.

  “Why do you think he’ll come back tonight?”

  “Because he’s made several attempts in a short period of time. He keeps coming back, trying something different. Loyal is watching from the stables. If he sees anything, he’ll call me on the cellular phone, then notify the sheriff.”

  “Are you armed?”

  He tilted his head toward the dresser. “There.”

  She turned her head and in the dimness could see a darker shape lying on top of the dresser. Abruptly she knew what was different about his mood. This was how he must have been when he’d tracked the rustlers into Mexico: the hunter, the predator. Webb was a man not normally inclined to violence, but he would kill to protect his own. He wasn’t excited or on edge; the thud of his heart beneath her head was steady. He was coolly, ruthlessly determined.

  “What if nothing happens tonight?” she asked.

  “Then we’ll watch again tomorrow night. Eventually, we’ll get him.”

  She stood with him for a long time, staring out at the moonlit night until her eyes ached. Nothing moved, and the crickets chirped undisturbed.

  “You’re sure the alarm is on?”

  He pointed to the code box beside the veranda doors. A tiny green light was steadily shining. A red light flashed if a door was opened, and if the code wasn’t entered within fifteen seconds, the alarm sounded.

  Webb appeared to have the patience of Job and the stamina of a marathoner. He stood unmoving, keeping watch, but Roanna couldn’t manage to stand still for that length of time. She paced slowly around the dark bedroom, hugging the afghan around her, until Webb said softly, “Why don’t you lie down and get some sleep?”

  “I have insomnia, remember?” she shot back. “I only sleep after—”

  She stopped, and he chuckled. “I could say something crude, but I won’t. I kind of like this strange type of insomnia,” he teased. “It gives me incentive.”

  “I haven’t noticed that you needed any.”

  “After we’ve been married thirty years or so, I might—” He broke off, every line of his big body tensing.

  Roanna didn’t hurry to the window, though that was her first urge. She was wearing a white nightgown; her appearance at the window might be spotted. Instead she whispered, “Do you see someone?”

  “The son of a bitch is slipping up the outside stairs,” he murmured. “I didn’t see him until just now. Probably Loyal didn’t either.” He took the cellular phone from his pocket and punched the numbers for Loyal’s private line. A few seconds later he said quietly, “He’s here, coming up to the veranda by the outside stairs.” That was all. He closed the phone and returned it to his pocket.

  “What do we do?” she whispered.

  “Wait and see what he does. Loyal is calling the sheriff, then he’s coming over as backup.” He shifted his position a little, so he had a better angle to watch the silent intruder. The moonlight slanted across his face.” He’s going around to the front … He’s out of sight now.”

  A red light blinked, catching Roanna’s attention. She stared at the code box. “Webb, he’s in the house! The light’s blinking.”

  He swore softly and moved across the room to get the pistol from the top of the dresser.

  Still watching the light, Roanna said, startled, “It’s stopped blinking. It’s green again.”

  He swung around and stared at the code box. “Someone let him in.” His voice was almost soundless, but laden with a quiet menace that didn’t bode well for someone. “Corliss.”

  He kicked off his shoes and silently went to the door.

  “What are you going to do?” Roanna asked fiercely, trying to keep her voice down. It was difficult, with anger and fear rushing through her veins with every beat of her heart. She trembled with the need to go with him, but she forced herself to stand still. She had no means of protecting herself, and the last thing he needed was to have to worry about her.

  “Try to get behind him.” He opened the door the tiniest crack, looking down the hallway for the intruder. He couldn’t see anything. He decided to wait, hoping the man would give away his position. He thought he heard a faint whisper of sound but couldn’t be certain.

  Seconds ticked past, and Webb took the risk of opening the door a bit more.
He could see all the way to the front of the house now, on this side of the house, and the hallway was empty. He slipped out of the room and down the back hallway, his bare feet soundless on the carpet, keeping close to the wall. When he approached the corner he slowed, lifting the pistol and pulling the hammer back. With his back flattened against the wall, he took a quick look around the corner. A dark figure loomed at the other end of the hallway. Webb jerked back, but not in time—he’d been seen. A thunderous shot reverberated through the house, and plaster flew from the wall.

  Webb swore viciously even as he threw himself into the open, rolling, bringing his own weapon around. He squeezed off a shot, the heavy pistol bucking in his hand, but the dark figure at the other end darted toward Lucinda’s door. Smoke filled the hallway, and the stench of cordite burned in his nostrils as Webb scrambled to his feet and threw himself forward.

  As he’d expected, the shots had the entire family opening their doors, poking their heads out. “God damn it, get back in your rooms,” he yelled furiously.

  Gloria ignored him and stepped completely out into the hallway. “Don’t swear at me!” she snapped. “What on earth is going on?”

  Behind her, the assailant stepped out into the hallway, but Gloria was between them and Webb couldn’t get off a shot. Roughly he shoved her, and with a cry she sprawled to the floor.

  And he froze, suddenly helpless. The man had one arm hooked around Lucinda’s neck, holding the frail old woman in front of him as a shield. The gun was steady in his other hand, the barrel laid against Lucinda’s temple, and a savage grin was on his face.

  “Unload the gun real slow,” he ordered, backing toward the front hallway. Webb didn’t hesitate. There was an expression on the man’s face that told him Lucinda would be dead if he didn’t obey. With deliberate movements he flipped open the cylinder and removed all the bullets.

  “Throw them behind you,” the man said, and Webb obeyed, tossing the bullets down the hallway. “Now kick the gun toward me.”

  Carefully he bent and placed the empty weapon on the carpet, then took his foot and shoved it toward the man, who made no move to pick it up. He didn’t have to; he had separated the bullets from the weapon, so there was no way anyone could pick up a bullet, get to the pistol and reload it, then fire, before he could shoot them.

  Lucinda was standing very still in his grip, as colorless as her nightgown. Her white hair was rumpled as if he had dragged her from her bed, and perhaps he had, though more likely she had jumped up at the first shot and was coming to see what had happened when he grabbed her.

  The man looked around, his savage grin growing even bigger as he saw all the people standing frozen in their bedroom doors, except for Gloria, who was still lying on the carpet and whimpering softly.

  “Everybody!” he suddenly bellowed. “I want to see everybody! I know who you all are, so if anybody tries to hide, I’ll put a bullet in the old biddy’s head. You got five seconds! One—two—three—”

  Harlan stepped out of the bedroom and bent to help Gloria to her feet. She clung to him, still whimpering. Greg and Lanette came out of their rooms, ashen faced.

  “—four—”

  Webb saw Corliss and Brock appear from the other hallway.

  The man looked around. “There’s one more,” he said, sneering. “We’re missing your little brood mare, Tallant. Where is she? You think I’m fooling around about killing this old bitch?’

  No, Webb thought. No. As much as he loved Lucinda, he couldn’t bear the thought of risking Roanna. Run, he silently pleaded with her. Run, darling. Get help. Run!

  The man looked to the left and gave a pleased laugh. “There she is. Come on out, darlin’. Join the happy crowd.”

  Roanna slipped forward, moving to stand between Corliss and the front double doors of the veranda. She was as pale as Lucinda, her slender figure almost insubstantial. She stared at the man and gasped, going even whiter.

  “Well, ain’t this nice?” the man crowed, grinning at Roanna. “I see you remember me.”

  “Yes,” she said faintly.

  “That’s good, because I remember you real well. Me and you got some unfinished business. You gave me a scare when you walked up on me here in the hall that night, but I heard tell that little bump on the head gave you a concussion, and you don’t remember nothing about it. That right?”

  “Yes,” she said again, her eyes huge and dark in her white face.

  He laughed, evidently pleased by the irony. His cold eyes swept over them all. “A real family reunion. All of you get together, over here in the front hall, under the light so I can see all of you real good.” He moved back, out of reach, holding Lucinda’s head arched back as Webb silently shepherded the others forward, grouping them together with Corliss, Brock, and Roanna.

  Webb spared a single murderous look at Corliss. She was watching the man as if fascinated, but there wasn’t a single flicker of fear on her face. She had let him in, and she was too stupid to realize he would kill her, too. All of them were dead, unless he did something.

  He tried to move closer to Roanna, hoping that perhaps he could shield her with his body, that somehow she might survive. “Uh-uh,” the man said, shaking his head. “You stand still, you bastard.”

  “Who are you?” Gloria shrilled. “Turn loose of my sister!”

  “Shut up, bitch, or I’ll feed the first bullet to you.”

  “It’s a good question,” Webb said. He stared at the man with a cool, hard gaze. “Who the hell are you?”

  Lucinda spoke, her bloodless lips moving. “His name,” she said clearly, “is Harper Neeley.”

  The man gave a rough, feral laugh. “I see you’ve heard of me.”

  “I know who you are. I made it a point to find out.”

  “Did you, now? That’s real interesting. Wonder why you never visited. We’re family, after all.” He laughed again.

  Webb didn’t want his attention on Lucinda, didn’t want him watching any of them except himself. “Why, God damn it?” he snarled. “What do you want? I don’t know you, I’ve never even heard of you.” If he could stall long enough, Loyal might be able to work himself into position and do something, or the sheriff would arrive. All he had to do was stall.

  “Because you killed her,” Neeley said viciously. “You killed my girl, you fucking bastard.”

  “Jessie?” Webb stared at him, astonished. “I didn’t kill Jessie.”

  “God damn you, don’t lie!” Neeley roared, jerking the pistol from Lucinda’s temple to point it at Webb. “You found out about us, and you killed her!”

  “No,” Webb said sharply. “I didn’t. I didn’t have any idea she was cheating on me. I didn’t know until after the autopsy when the sheriff told me she was pregnant. I knew it couldn’t be mine.”

  “You knew! You knew and you killed her! You killed my girl and you killed my baby, and I’m going to make you watch while I kill your baby. I’m going to shoot this little bitch right in the stomach and you’re going to stand there and watch her die, and then I’m going to do you—”

  “He didn’t kill Jessie!” Lucinda’s voice rang out over Neeley’s. She lifted her white head high. “I did.”

  The pistol wavered slightly. “Don’t try to mess with me, old woman,” Neeley panted.

  Webb kept his attention glued to Neeley; the man’s eyes were gleaming hotly, sweat beading on his face as he worked himself into a frenzy. He was planning to kill nine people. He’d already wasted one shot. The pistol was an automatic; how many bullets did it have in the clip? Some carried as many as seventeen, but still, after the first shot he could hardly expect them all to stand there like sheep waiting for the slaughter. He had to realize that he was in an almost impossible situation, but that made him all the more unstable. He had nothing to lose.

  “I killed her,” Lucinda repeated.

  “You’re lying. It was him, everybody knows it was him.”

  “I didn’t mean to kill her,” Lucinda said calmly. “It wa
s an accident. I was scared, I didn’t know what to do. If Webb had actually been arrested, I would have confessed, but Booley couldn’t find any evidence because there wasn’t any.

  Webb didn’t do it.” She gave Webb a look of sorrow, of love, of regret. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

  “You’re lying!” Neeley howled, jerking her hard against him and tightening his arm around her throat. “I’ll break your goddamn neck if you don’t shut up!”

  Greg jumped for him. Quiet, unassuming Greg, who had let Lanette run their lives without even opening his mouth to give an opinion. Lanette screamed, and Neeley jerked back, firing once. Greg stumbled and fell forward, all of his coordination suddenly gone, his legs and arms moving spasmodically. He sprawled on the floor, his chest heaving and his eyes wide with surprise. Then he gave a funny little cough that turned into a moan, as blood slowly spread beneath him.

  Lanette stuffed her fingers into her mouth, staring in horror at her husband. She started forward, instinctively going to him.

  “Don’t move!” Neeley screamed, waving the pistol erratically. “I’ll kill the next one who moves!”

  Corliss was staring down at her father, her mouth open, her expression stunned. “You shot my daddy,” she said in amazement.

  “Shut up, you fucking bitch. Stupid,” he sneered. “You’re so fucking stupid.”

  Webb caught the faintest movement out of the corner of his eyes. He didn’t dare move, didn’t dare turn his head, as terror seized him. Roanna shifted again, just the slightest of movements, taking her a fraction of an inch closer to the doors.

  On the code box to the left of the doors, Webb saw the green light change to red.

  Roanna had opened the door.

  Fifteen seconds. The deafening blare would be all the diversion he would get. He began counting, hoping he could time it right.

  Tears streamed down Corliss’s face as she stared down at Greg, feebly writhing on the floor. “Daddy,” she said. She looked back at Neeley and her face twisted with rage, and something else. “You shot my daddy!” she screamed, lunging at Neeley, her hands extended like claws.